


so dirty and raw

by hlundqvists



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Bondage, Bruises, Butt Plugs, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, New York Rangers, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlundqvists/pseuds/hlundqvists
Summary: He loves the way the fabric so effortlessly slides around Marc's wrists and even more than that, he adores the way Marc so willingly gives up control and shudders with pleasure as he lets his hands get tied to the headboard.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has been in my drafts for _so long_ and i'm so glad that i can finally post it. i started writing this quite literally ages ago. it was born, at first, from the fact that marc wore a really, really nice purple tie during the 'blueshirts off our backs' ceremony at the final home game of the 14-15 regular season.
> 
> then, i got stuck and put this aside. then last season happened and it seemed like a good/relevant idea to write a piece about hank and marc in a setting like this. but i kept getting stuck and hitting mental blocks and i've only finished it now with the start of the 16-17 season, so i can't really give a specific time frame of _when_ this story would be occurring in my head.
> 
> take it as you will and pretend it is happening whenever you want it to be.
> 
> the fact still remains that this fic only exists because marc wore a tie that i really liked and clearly i am full of sin.
> 
> but if you're reading this, then you're just as guilty as i am so i don't feel as bad.
> 
> thank you to jess & lauren for looking this over for me. title taken with very little shame from 'pillowtalk' by zayn malik.

The fabric of the tie slips easily between Hank's fingers. It's soft, a gentle fabric that doesn't burn skin when resisting wrists tug against it. Hank's favorite aspect of this specific tie might be how brightly the dark purple contrasts against the paleness of Marc's skin.

He loves the way the fabric so effortlessly slides around Marc's wrists and even more than that, he adores the way Marc so willingly gives up control and shudders with pleasure as he lets his hands get tied to the headboard.

They don't do this often, and when they do, it hardly happens during the season. Tonight, though, they both need it.

Hank gently slips the tie around Marc's wrists, securing his arms above his head with a gentle knot. There's a special type of beauty to the way Marc flushes when he tests the hold of the tie, finding hardly any give to his tugging; the red spreads down his neck, flaring over his chest and the freckles scattered over his shoulders seem to become even darker, easier to see.

Hank smiles, brushing a hand down Marc's raised arms, leaning in to kiss him slowly.

"How does that feel?"

Marc exhales slowly, parting his lips against Hank's.

"Feels good. Feels right."

"Good, good."

Hank speaks carefully, lips still brushing against Marc's. He keeps his lips close for another moment, matching his breathing to Marc's. It's grounding to sync their breathing up; inhale and exhale together as Marc very gently pulls against the tie again, impatient, testing the strength and reassuring himself of the hold.

Time passes and neither of them speaks.

Hank keeps his lips brushing against Marc’s, drinking in every exhale and giving back on each inhale.

"You're _gorgeous_ ," Hank breathes out on his next exhale, fully enjoying the way Marc's cheeks turn red with a blush.

Marc makes a low noise of protest, shifting beneath Hank, tugging at the tie again.

"Then _touch me_."

Hank laughs quietly, skimming his fingers over Marc's cheek, down to his neck.

"I am touching you, älskling."

Marc lets out another low noise, more of a whine now, and arches himself up as much as he can, trying to seek more of Hank's touch. Hank gives in for a moment, adding pressure to his touch, dragging his nails down over the side of Marc's neck, moving lower to brush over his collarbone.

The quiet sighs of pleasure falling from Marc's lips make Hank smile, and he lets his touch linger for a few more moments, fingers dropping down lower to brush over Marc's nipples, thumbing at them until they turn to hard, pink buds beneath his fingers.

Marc is sighing pleasantly, cheeks flushed, his eyelids fluttering, seeming to fight off the urge to close. Hank smiles slowly, a fondness swelling up inside his chest. Marc catches the smile and one of his own forms as he whispers, "Something you want to say?"

Hank ducks down to kiss Marc softly, making the contact last, giving Marc's lower lip a gentle bite. 

"You look so nice like this."

Marc hums at the bite, face tilted up to seek more of Hank’s kiss. Hank grants the request, kissing Marc slow and firm, his fingers trailing down Marc’s chest, over his stomach, teasing down to his hips. 

A light shudder runs through Marc’s body, his hips twitching slightly, making Hank grin. He brushes his fingers along the cut of Marc’s hipbones, thumb pressing down hard against the indents, nails scraping lightly over skin. Marc hisses lowly, then swallows hard, his cock giving an interested twitch. 

“You do like that, don’t you?”

Hank presses the question to the skin just under Marc’s ear, near the curve of his jaw. Marc wets his lips and nods, letting out another low hiss as Hank digs his fingers in harder against Marc’s right hip. The touch is hard, Hank’s fingers digging in deep and holding, hard enough to make dark color blossom against the paleness of Marc’s skin. 

Marc’s cock only grows harder, filling out more, as the muscles of his stomach twitch with the effort of holding himself still.

Hank lets go, looking at the dark bruises his fingers have left behind. Marc gives a soft sigh, rolling his hips, his noises turning to a moan when he stretches up enough to feel a soft throb against his skin from the fresh bruises.

“Mm, s’nice.”

Hank smiles faintly and presses his palms flat to Marc’s stomach, pushing down.

“Stay still.”

Obedience comes immediately.

Satisfaction fills Hank at seeing Marc obey, and he rewards him for it. He curls a hand loosely around Marc’s cock, stroking him once, thumb teasing over the tip. Marc moans softly but doesn’t move, his hips staying down. That earns him another stroke, firmer this time, Hank’s thumb dragging harder over the tip, smearing pre-come slowly.

“Fuck…”

Hank continues the motion, firmly but slowly stroking Marc’s cock, giving extra attention to the tip on each upstroke. Marc gasps and moans, but he doesn’t move his hips to push up into Hank’s hand. The effort doesn’t go unnoticed. Hank rewards Marc more, increasing the pace of his hand, while sliding his other hand up over Marc’s stomach to his chest, thumbing at his nipples in turn.

“Ah… fuck, Hank.”

Marc whines, the noise increasing in volume and pitch as Hank pinches Marc’s left nipple between his fingers, adding just enough pressure to make it sting lightly. Marc’s hips twitch, then, and it’s clear he’s trying to fight it, trying to keep himself completely still but Hank squeezes his cock and drags his nails over his nipples and all Marc can do is let out a pleading noise as his hips jerk up, thrusting against Hank’s hand.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , Hank--”

Instantly, Hank pulls his hands away, moving back on the bed to put some distance between his body and Marc’s, tone even as he says, “I told you to stay still, didn’t I?”

“That’s not fair, it’s not fair, you didn’t let me--”

Hank interrupts Marc’s whining with a light slap to his cock, reveling in the way Marc squirms and whimpers, shoulders tensing as he pulls against the tie binding his hands above his head, seeming to have forgotten about it.

“Answer the question, Marc. Didn’t I tell you to stay still?”

Marc gasps, nodding, his body instantly stilling once more.

“Yes, sir. You did.”

Hank keeps his voice firm as he speaks. “You broke a command. Don’t tell me what’s fair and isn’t fair. You listen or you get nothing.”

Marc nods again, biting his lip, gazing at Hank with a pleading look in his eyes. On another day, Hank might have given in to that look and Marc knows it. Hank lets him try, watching as the expression on Marc’s face shifts from pleading to uncertainty as Hank stays still, unmoved by the pout of Marc’s lips or the sweet longing in his eyes. Eventually Marc exhales, dropping his gaze, and lets his shoulders relax as much as possible, mindful of the tie pulling at his wrists. He becomes still and silent, breathing slowly, eyes lowered. It’s a further physical display of submission, one that Hank appreciates seeing.

“There you go,” Hank murmurs, fingers returning to smooth over Marc’s thighs. “Just relax, älskling. I’m going to take care of you, as long as you listen and obey.”

Marc agrees softly, quietly murmuring, “I know. You always treat me right.”

Hank smiles at that and starts to touch Marc again; light and gentle touches, meant to tease. He brushes his fingers over Marc’s thighs, skims over Marc’s cock. Marc keeps still, his eyes carefully following the movements of Hank’s hands. Hank returns his fingers to Marc’s hips again, pressing at the fading dark colors from before. He wants to bruise Marc a little, knows that Marc wants to be bruised. It’s a way to redirect their frustrations, to get those emotions out. It’s a way to restore balance when they’ve been feeling so very unbalanced recently.

Marc takes it with no complaints, only letting out a soft whine when Hank’s fingers dig in against his skin. The whine turns into a soft moan as Hank leans in and digs his teeth into Marc’s shoulder, biting and sucking a bruise there. He doesn’t squirm against the tie, doesn’t try to break free or utter a single word of protest. He just gives his body over to Hank and Hank takes. Hank takes and Marc gives and it feels right.

Hank only lets up once there’s a bruise on Marc’s shoulder and an even darker bruise against Marc’s hip. Marc whines lightly when Hank pulls back and Hank grins, says, “You’ve been good, babe. You get a reward now.”

Marc mumbles a low, “Please, sir,” in a sweet whisper and Hank gives. He trails a line of kisses down Marc’s chest and mouths at his nipples, dragging his teeth over them lightly while curling a hand around Marc’s cock. He strokes him slowly, grip firm, and smears pre-come even more over Marc’s cock. He strokes him a few more times, then slides his hand down to palm at Marc’s balls while gently biting a nipple.

Marc’s stomach trembles with the effort to stay still, but then Hank murmurs a soft command, tells Marc that he can move now, it’s okay. Marc exhales in relief and starts to slowly roll his hips up, rocking against Hank’s hand.

Hank keeps it up for a few more minutes; slowly stroking Marc’s cock, grip alternating between loose and tight, gently biting at Marc’s nipples while thumbing the head of his dick. Marc sighs and moans, moving his hips with Hank’s hand, never pressing for more, just feeling what Hank is giving him. A warmth starts to fill Marc’s stomach, spreading up to his chest, and that’s when Hank stops. He takes his mouth and hand away with a word and Marc has to bite back a protesting whine. He isn’t successful at holding the noise back entirely.

He whines a low, “Sir, please, no.”

Hank only smiles and sits back, reaching for the lube he kept nearby and says, “This is only the start.”

He uncaps the lube and gets a little bit on one finger, looking at Marc as he does.

“Spread your legs. Spread them like the slut you are for me.”

Marc flushes at those words but obeys immediately. Hank ignores the pride that swells in his chest at seeing that and moves to settle between Marc’s legs. He teases his finger against Marc’s rim, not pressing in, not giving any indication of doing so. He circles around, teasing, watching Marc’s face. Marc is pretty flushed already from the buildup to this point; his eyes are bright, slightly pleading for Hank to press his finger in.

Hank doesn’t budge.

He keeps up the teasing motion, circling his finger, spreading the lube around, watching the little twitches of Marc’s cock. He counts the seconds in his head, waits and waits, and then at five minutes, he presses the tip of his finger in. Marc gasps, his fingers curling over his head.

Hank gives slowly. He only lets the tip of his finger press in, then immediately takes it away, pulling his hand back. He repeats that action a few times, then pulls back to grab the lube again, spreading more on his finger and this time, he slides his finger in all the way and holds it still. Marc gasps again, sweet and gentle, his lips parting and Hank’s gaze gets locked on a little shiny spot on Marc’s lower lip where he had licked it before.

“You’re so tight,” Hank comments. “I thought my little slut would be keeping himself prepared for me.”

Marc blushes, embarrassment mixing heavily into his expression.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry for not being a good slut. I’m sorry for not being prepared.”

He sounds so small and worried and Hank _almost_ wants to punish him for not being ready, but that’s not why he said it. He moves his finger slowly and leans in, kisses that spot on Marc’s lower lip before saying, “It’s okay. _This time_.”

Marc whimpers quietly, breathes out a soft _thank you_ and relaxes further with the slow pace of Hank fucking him with one finger. Hank doesn’t hurry his speed, taking his time, and eventually as Marc grows more relaxed, he adds a second finger. He repeats the same teasing motions he did before, barely pushing both fingers in, then pulling out quickly. He does it four times, then presses both fingers in all the way. Marc moans louder now, his legs spreading more, and Hank smiles at the way Marc gives over so easily.

He scissors his fingers a little, stretching Marc, careful and slow with it. Marc keeps letting out sweet noises the whole time; his thighs are trembling, stomach clenching. But despite that, Hank doesn’t go faster. It doesn’t matter how Marc looks or how he sounds or how easy he is; Hank sets the pace. Hank is in control.

He keeps fucking Marc slowly, stretching him, adding more lube to get that slicker, smoother motion of his fingers. Marc’s cock is leaking against his stomach, the flush spread over his body absolutely incredible, and Hank takes it all in.

“You’re gorgeous, Marc. My gorgeous boy, my beautiful slut.”

Marc gasps and blushes hotly, nodding, voice trembling a bit.

“I’m y-yours. Your slut, sir. Only yours.”

Hank smiles, fond and gentle, and adds a third finger easily.

“Go on, baby. Fuck yourself on my fingers. Show me how desperate you are, how much you want it. Show me how much of a slut you really are.”

Marc does as he’s told, moaning softly, moving his hips to rock down on Hank’s fingers. His arms strain against the tie around the headboard as he tries to move himself closer, tries to get Hank’s fingers deeper. Hank doesn’t move his fingers, doesn’t help Marc at all with this. He doesn’t bend his fingers to touch the spot he knows Marc is trying to get, doesn’t do anything to help Marc get that feeling he’s seeking.

Marc’s noises get even more desperate as he keeps rocking his hips, and Hank watches his body move, breathless. Marc is _gorgeous_ like this, so red and sweaty and desperate. Hank wants to keep him like this forever.

He lets Marc continue to fuck himself for ten minutes, counting down the seconds in his head again. Then, he says nothing, gives zero warning as he pulls his fingers away. Marc cries out loudly, a sob from deep in his chest. He pulls at the tie and sobs and begs for Hank to give his fingers back.

“N-no, no, _sir, please_ , I need them, I n-need you. Feel so empty, please, _please_.”

Hank puts his hands on Marc’s hips, presses him down against the bed, and moves up to kiss Marc firmly, swallowing those pleading words as they keep stumbling from Marc’s lips. Marc calms into the kiss, the words drying in his throat, replaced with little whimpers as Hank bites and nips at his lips and licks into his mouth, leaving him panting and shaking. 

Hank wants a picture of Marc like this, wants this to be a memory to be kept forever. So, he gets one. He grabs his phone from the nightstand and pulls up the camera, taking a few pictures.

“You’re such a pretty slut, such a good boy,” Hank says, tone a bit awed, as he keeps taking pictures. Marc makes an embarrassed noise and tries to hide his face against the crook of his elbow, but it only makes him look even prettier, makes Hank groan quietly.

“So perfect,” Hank tells him, pleased with the pictures he’s taken, and puts the phone away. “Perfect and pretty and _mine_.”

Marc looks at him, expression begging, and whispers, “Sir, _please_.”

Hank smiles and runs his hands down Marc’s body, over his chest to his stomach, down until he has a hand poised on either side of Marc’s cock.

“Please _what_ , baby?”

Marc whines, the words falling fast from his lips, “Please, sir, I’m so empty. I n-need you inside me, need your cock.”

Hank doesn’t want to wait much longer, but Marc looks and sounds so pretty that he has to push at his limits a little more.

“You have to wait,” Hank tells him firmly. “Be good and wait. You’ll get my cock when I give you my cock. Now, be _still_.”

Marc lets out a wounded noise, but it’s quickly replaced with a moan as Hank curls a hand around his cock and starts stroking him, other hand moving down to tease at his balls and press against his rim. He teases a little, then presses two fingers inside Marc easily, fucks him with them slowly while jerking him fast, thumb rubbing the tip of Marc’s cock. 

Hank knows it’s taking every ounce of Marc’s control to not move, to keep his hips against the bed. He’s trying so _hard_. Hank loves him so much, loves this obedience and submission.

Marc is biting his lip, trying so hard to be still, his noises getting louder and louder as Hank presses his fingers in deeper and strokes his dick faster. He whimpers and gasps out Hank’s name, almost warningly, his voice sounding scared and worried as he says, “S-sir, I’m close, I’m gonna come, I c-can’t. You didn’t say I could, sir.”

Hank knows the signs of Marc’s body, knows it’s true and he doesn’t want Marc to come unless it’s on Hank’s dick. He takes his hands away and kisses Marc sweetly for being good and telling him, whispers that against Marc’s lips, that he’s such a good boy.

Marc sighs and soaks up the praise, smiling a bit dopily at Hank, murmurs softly, “Thank you. I’d do anything for you.”

“I know,” Hank replies, kissing Marc again, then starts to kiss down Marc’s neck. Marc sighs and hums with the kisses, the noises only changing to gasps once Hank’s mouth comes to his chest, teeth scraping over his nipples.

Hank doesn’t stay there long, only long enough to lick and suck at Marc’s nipples for a few minutes and make Marc moan high in his throat, before continuing down, down, down until his lips are brushing over Marc’s cock. Marc gasps and his hips jerk up automatically. Hank slaps him for it, hits his thigh, then digs his fingers against Marc’s hips, finding the bruises from earlier and makes them darker again.

Marc sobs as Hank keeps digging his fingers in and teases his lips against the head of Marc’s cock. He looks up at Marc’s face and watches as Marc starts to break further, tears slipping free, and that fuels his desire further. He takes Marc’s cock into his mouth all the way, swallowing around it. He hums, tongue laving up and down the shaft, wet and messy and warm, just the way Hank knows will get Marc close to the edge again.

It doesn’t take long for Marc to start crying out in warning again, telling Hank he’s close, he’s going to come. Hank pulls off slowly, spit from his lips trailing out to the tip of Marc’s cock. Marc chokes at the sight of it.

“F-fuck,” his voice is shaking, eyes never leaving Hank’s lips. “You’re the m-most beautiful-- You’re e-everything. I-- H- _Hank, sir_.”

He can’t find the words to express exactly what Hank is, just that he’s _a lot_. Hank smiles and licks his lips and presses a sweet kiss to the tip of Marc’s cock, murmuring against it, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Marc replies, breathing heavily, eager and pliant as he waits for Hank’s next move.

Hank can’t wait any longer now. He wants to be inside Marc, wants to feel the tight heat of Marc around his dick. He grabs the lube, slicks himself up, and positions himself between Marc’s legs.

He doesn’t press in right away. He holds onto his dick and teases the tip against Marc’s rim; rubs it there, rubs up against Marc’s balls, then back down. Marc is biting his bottom lip hard, but it doesn’t stifle the whines. Hank starts to press in, lets only the tip get inside Marc, then pulls out again. Marc gasps, and Hank does it again, then again, listening to the pleading words that come from Marc.

“P-please, _please_ , sir, please fill me, please, I want your cock so bad,” Marc can’t stop begging and Hank never wants it to end. “Sir, pleaseplease _please_ , fill me, fuck me, I’m a g-good slut, I want to be filled. _Sir, please_.”

Finally, _finally_ , Hank presses in slowly. He groans at the heat, the tightness of Marc surrounding his dick. Marc lets out a full-on sob once Hank is pressed in all the way, balls deep, unmoving, just filling and stretching him.

Hank moves slow at first; fucks Marc slowly, barely moving his hips. He listens to Marc beg more, sounding so pretty and broken, so needy. Hank loves it, loves the way that Marc’s entire body has gone pliant beneath him, taking what is given, even as he begs for more. He loves when Marc listens and obeys and takes.

“Love you, Marc,” Hank whispers. “Love my good sub, my good slut. My good boy.”

Marc makes a broken noise, “M-more, sir, please?”

Hank gives him what he asks for.

He starts moving his hips faster, pulling out all the way, then snapping back in, hitting Marc in all the right spots.

“You can move, älskling. Get your legs around me, let me get deeper.”

Marc complies, legs a bit shaky as he gets them around Hank’s waist. He cries out sharply when Hank slides in deeper, fills him more. “Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ ,” becomes Marc’s whispered mantra.

Hank digs his fingers against Marc’s hips, hitches him up more, and steadily increases his pace. Marc can’t stop making noise. He’s trying for words, but Hank keeps fucking into him, making his breath catch and the words keep changing to these sweet and breathy noises, little gasps and sobs.

Hank leans in, bites at Marc’s lips, and Marc’s fingers twitch above his head, arms pulling against the tie. He wants to touch. He’s burning up with the need, the want to get his hands in Hank’s hair. He feels like he’s falling as Hank keeps fucking him. He doesn’t have the ability to ground himself in Hank with his hands in Hank’s hair. He tries to tell Hank this the best he can between moans, gasps out, “N-need to touch, need you, ‘m f-falling. Need you.”

Hank kisses Marc, sound and firm, tongue swiping over his lips, then reaches up to undo the tie with one hand, sets Marc free.

“You can only touch me, not yourself.”

Marc barely manages to get out a low _thank you_. His hands immediately running through Hank’s hair, touching, grounding himself; his eyes are wide and wet, tears escaping, his cheeks flushed and lips parted. There’s a glassy look in his eyes and Hank loves it. He loves when Marc gives himself over this much.

He curls an arm under Marc’s waist, hoists him higher off the bed, and increased the pace and force of his thrusts. He’s not going to last much longer, but he wants Marc to come first. Marc is close, he knows. The hitches of Marc’s breath, the trembles of his body; Hank knows every sign. 

He knows that Marc is waiting, too. Waiting for permission, waiting to be told he can let go. Hank thrusts in deep, hard, and bites at Marc’s jaw, then whispers in his ear, “You can come, älskling. Come on my dick like a good slut. Let me feel it.”

Marc sobs, broken and loud, hands dropping from Hank’s hair to curl his arms around Hank’s neck, pulling himself closer to Hank. He shakes apart and comes on the next hard thrust from Hank. He buries his face against Hank’s neck, sobbing, his tears against Hank’s skin, his body shaking and pressing close. 

Hank can feel Marc’s come, can feel the warmth of it as Marc’s stomach brushes his, can feel it smearing over their skin; that feeling mixed with Marc’s sobs against his neck and the absolute tight heat of Marc clenching around his cock is what tips him over the edge.

He groans loudly, thrusts in as deep as he can, and spills inside Marc. 

Marc sobs harder, still trembling, completely breathless, lips against Hank’s neck, words muffled.

“T-thank you, thank you for your come, sir. F-feels so good, feels so messy and sloppy. S’good, thank you, thank you for filling me. Love you, sir. S’much.”

Hank lowers Marc onto the bed carefully, kissing his jaw, his neck, his shoulder.

“Shh,” he whispers gently, “You’re so good, such a good boy. I love you. I love you so much.”

Marc is making quiet little noises, his cheek rubbing lazily against Hank’s shoulder. Hank smiles fondly, touches a hand to Marc’s hair, pets him softly.

“I’m going to pull out now, baby, okay?”

Marc whines and suddenly his grip on Hank is tightening.

“No, n-no,” his voice is a trembling whisper, “I don’t wanna be empty, don’t wanna lose your come, p-please.”

Hank’s chest tightens and he kisses Marc’s forehead, soothing, and keeps stroking his hair.

“It’s okay, älskling. It’s okay. I’ll get the plug, I’ll keep you filled,” Hank’s voice is a soft murmur, reassuring, and he can feel Marc relaxing against him slowly. “We’ll use the plug and keep you open so I can fill you more later and again in the morning. Okay?”

Marc’s arms loosen around Hank and he nods, voice very soft.

“Okay, yes, please.”

Hank kisses him gentle and pulls out carefully, tells Marc to be still and not move. Marc doesn’t, he stays perfectly still while Hank goes and gets the plug from the dresser drawer quickly. He slicks it up a bit with lube, even though Marc is wet and open enough to take it. He’s not taking any chances.

He gently presses it in, watching in awe as Marc’s body takes it in so easily. The plug is the final piece that makes Marc completely collapse and go boneless against the bed. His voice is so soft, barely a whisper, as he lets out a constant stream of, “thank you, _thank you_.”

Hank cleans him up carefully with a few tissues and presses kisses to his skin, murmuring praise and love as he moves his lips. He rubs Marc’s wrists and kisses them where the tie had been, kisses the bruises on Marc’s hips.

Marc sighs quietly, eyelids fluttering, breaths coming slower. He reaches for Hank slowly, movements a bit stilted, like he’s not fully in his body and isn’t sure how to control his arms. Hank smiles and settles back on the bed, pulling Marc close, and kisses his hair, his forehead. He smooths a hand down Marc’s back and pets his hair, whispering lovingly, “You’re so good. I love you so much. Go to sleep, baby, it’s okay. You’re so, so good.”

Marc drifts off soon after, face tucked against Hank’s neck, mumbling how much he loves Hank, curled up close against him, safe and warm.

Hank watches him sleep for a while, fingers running over Marc’s skin.

He’ll sleep eventually, but right now, he wants to soak this in, wants to treasure this moment, treasure Marc more than anything. Besides, he has to figure out exactly what he’s going to do to Marc when he wakes up.

He has some planning to do.


End file.
